


The Return

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Series: The Right Hand [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 7 of The Right Hand series: After the Inquisitor breaks his heart, Cullen tries to move on by serving as Cassandra’s Right Hand.</p><p>Cullen gets a response after sending a letter to Sylvie, which takes him to a place he’d never thought he’d see again. Or necessarily wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a series because my original intention was to jump around in time and not tell such a linear story, but the story took on a life of its own. It would make more sense now as a multi-chap fic but that ship has sailed I guess. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Cullen fingered the sealed envelope, bracing himself and feeling a fool. It had arrived via messenger early that morning attached to his unopened missive to Sylvie and it was only now in the evening that he’d worked up the nerve to read it. He knew exactly what he would find inside. It would be an incredibly sweet and polite rejection of his attempt to reach out, a reaffirmation of what she had told him the night of the ball, perhaps with a bit more explanation that would fail to assuage his disappointment. Still he hesitated, fearing to feel that door slam in his face for good after he’d finally worked up the courage to creak it open. If she was telling him thanks but no thanks, he resolved that he wouldn’t pursue the matter further.

Sitting forward in his reading chair and bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet, he sliced through the wax seal and began to read.

 

> _To Ser Cullen Rutherford, The Right Hand of Divine Victoria_
> 
> _As much of an honor as it is for our humble house to receive a letter from the office of the Most Holy herself, I am afraid your correspondence arrives too late._
> 
> _I presume you are seeking to offer our precious Sylvie employment in your kitchens, just as many nobles did before you, so it is with regret that I inform you that she has accepted another position._
> 
> _Alas, I blame myself for losing such a talented chef, of course! The many parties I had with so many important guests to show off her unsurpassed skill, the boasting I would do at every opportunity everywhere I traveled, I should have known such actions would lead to lords and ladies competing for her, as if she were a prize to be won in a duel! She will be missed dearly, not only for her abilities in the kitchen, but for her charming personality._
> 
> _However, perhaps not all is lost. She is now head chef to the newly appointed Viscount of Kirkwall, but if the Divine wishes it, perhaps she can be persuaded away? I would be happy to offer assistance, should you need help convincing her - I was not only her employer, but her dearest friend._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Comtesse Madeleine Leclerc_
> 
> _p.s. Forgive my straightforward nature, but I am quite old and grow tired of The Game._

Cullen smirked at the postscript. This woman didn’t seem like the terrible old bat Sylvie made her out to be, but he supposed she was on her best behavior.

Kirkwall. It was an ugly word, a representation of the lowest parts of his life, a totem to his damaged psyche. It wasn’t like he didn’t hear the city mentioned on a regular basis during the normal course of his duties as Right Hand, but he never really dwelled upon it or pictured the city in his mind.

He certainly didn’t imagine returning there.

Of all the noble houses in all the cities and bannorns in all of Thedas, why did it have to be Kirkwall? He quickly dismissed his misplaced anger at Varric for taking Sylvie away from him, not to mention that the very idea that she was his was misguided at best and delusional at worst. She had said that the noblewoman paid her very well, so Varric must have sweetened the pot significantly to get her to pick up and leave.

There was a time where this roadblock would have been enough to discourage him. He would have jumped back into his work with renewed fervor and scoffed at the idea of pursuing someone he wasn’t sure felt the same way about him. Eventually he would have gone back to torturing himself about Tara, wondering what went wrong, if that was to be his one and only true love and losing that was his penance for all the terrible things he has done and the good things he should have.

Things were different now, he was different. The work was quiet, he had what Cassandra called closure, and he’d gotten the sweetest taste of something exciting, something that could possibly be even more than what he’d had with Tara, if he played his cards right. And even if it wasn’t meant to be anything in the end, he had a burning desire to find out.

Cullen exhaled, very slowly, and pressed the heels of his palms against his brow. No more letters, no more writing out his feelings, it was time to take action.

He was going back to Kirkwall. At least this time it wouldn’t involve a voyage by sea.

*****

Personal pursuits aside, Cullen was still a practical man who took his work very seriously. Cassandra and Elan had been ecstatic at his request and together the trio had amassed an agenda that made the trip more than worthwhile for the interests of the Divine.

His first order of business was lunch with the Grand Cleric in the makeshift Kirkwall Chantry, which now resided in an a couple of abandoned adjoining mansions in Hightown that had their walls knocked out while the real chantry was still being rebuilt. It was supposed to have been finished by now but work had been temporarily halted when funding dried up. When Varric took the Viscount’s seat, he had worked with Cassandra to find money in the coffers to get construction moving again. It was being built right on the old chantry grounds and would serve as a powerful symbol of the reforms under Divine Victoria - the new on the ashes of the old.

He had expected to be overwhelmed with feelings as he moved through Hightown, this city he once called home and briefly governed alongside Hawke, this place where he served a madwoman blindly for much too long, where he’d said and done so many regrettable things, where blood had been shed almost everywhere he looked. But much had changed - the people were lively, smiling, there were no templars looming in every corner watching for apostates, no mages hiding in fear. Even the merchants seemed less sleazy, the stones cleaner and brighter, and thank the Maker Varric had made it a priority to remove that horrific red lyrium statue of his former Knight-Commander.

He’d yet to visit the other areas, but the Grand Cleric seemed pleased at the progress of their outreach programs spearheaded by Divine Victoria for the poor and downtrodden, and according to her and the reports they had been receiving in Val Royeaux the new circle was thriving and Aveline’s crackdown on crime continued.

In short, the city was healing and moving forward, just as he was, and both were a work in progress.

One thing that remained the same was the Viscount’s keep, a fact he found oddly comforting. Cullen was greeted with a familiar freckled face as soon as he arrived.

“Serah, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Aveline said, squeezing his hand so hard he almost cringed. “It’s been far too long, has it not?”

Her face had developed some sharper edges or her short haircut made them more obvious, he couldn’t tell which. “Guard Captain Aveline, indeed it has. I regret not visiting sooner-”

“Say no more, I understand.” Her sympathetic smile underlined her words. “Please, follow me, Of course, you already know the way. Your things have already arrived and been delivered to your room. Varric is very anxious to see you, it’s all he’s talked about for the last few days.”

“Really?” Cullen asked as they ascended the stairs. “I didn’t realize Varric was so fond of me.”

Aveline nodded. “I’m sure he doesn’t show it, but he thinks the world of you. You know Varric, he’s a sucker for anyone who’s overcome adversity and come out stronger for it. I’d say you fit that bill.”

“Oh,” was all Cullen could think to say, genuinely perplexed and a bit bashful. For a storyteller Varric could be impossible to read; Cullen had assumed the dwarf thought of him as nothing more than a friendly colleague.

“Hold on - why are we going to the throne room and not the office?” The throne room was normally reserved for ceremonial activities.

Aveline cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you think?”

Cullen chuckled at Varric’s flair for the dramatic. “All right then.”

The guards opened up the doors, and it was all Cullen could do to stifle a laugh at the sight before him.

Varric was sprawled out on the throne, wearing fancy silks in navy blue and soft leather shoes with a cigar clamped between his teeth. His crown was cocked and he was listening to the Seneschal while swirling wine inside a jewel encrusted goblet. His hair was loose and appeared to have been styled, sweeping just past his shoulders. Every finger had a ring with a different colored stone gleaming on it, and Cullen could see his usual simple metal necklace had been replaced with a much larger, much shinier gold one.

He also appeared to be well on his way to getting drunk.

“Curly!” he cried when they entered, thrusting his goblet upward and spilling some wine down his arm.

Aveline leaned over. “Impressed?” she murmured.

Cullen removed his sueded leather hood and bowed his head. “Viscount Tethras, thank you for having me.”

He stomped out his cigar. “Aw c’mon, cut the bullshit, I’ve known you for too long. It’s just Varric.” The dwarf walked over to shake Cullen’s hand. His grip was decidedly less crushing than Aveline’s.

Varric gestured around him, grinning from ear to ear. “Can you even believe this shit?”

Cullen's brow rose and he pressed his lips together, taking in Varric’s new look. “It’s certainly…something.”

“It’s all right Curly, you can laugh - I haven’t stopped since the appointment. I mean look at me!’ He grabbed Cullen by the forearms. “Cullen, I’m in  _charge_ of fucking Kirkwall!”

The snicker-snort Cullen had been holding in was let loose and it echoed throughout the throne room, which made both of them crack up. Aveline said a quick farewell and Seneschal Bran shook his head while the two of them gathered their composure.

Varric dabbed his eye. “Oh man, that felt good. I’m sure you have a full schedule for your ‘Kirkwall Tour: The Homecoming’ and would like to take a load off. Let me show you to your room.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Nonsense. I’m really not that busy today, to be honest. I appreciate the distraction.”

They began to walk toward the guest wing, but not before Cullen pulled up his hood. “So tell me, how are you finding Kirkwall so far?” Varric asked.

Maybe it was the mere suggestion of a bed or the fit of laughter, but suddenly Cullen felt exhaustion settle in. Varric picked up on his hesitation.

“I get it, it’s a lot to process. It was for me too, when I first got back after being with the Inquisition. And for you, well, I imagine there are a lot of complicated layers there. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later - only if you’re up for it, of course.”

“I appreciate that. I think the journey is just catching up with me.”

“At least you didn’t have to travel by sea this time.” There was sympathy in the dwarf’s voice; he’d witnessed Cullen’s struggles when they had traveled together from Kirkwall to Haven.

“My sentiment exactly.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I made sure you have the quietest room with the most comfortable bed. Or are you sleeping better these days?” Varric cocked his head at him.

“Yes, better than I have in years. There’s the occasional time when… sleep troubles me, but it’s manageable.” Cullen gave him a small smile. “Thank you for asking.” They both knew that they weren’t just discussing his sleeping habits.

Varric clapped him on the back. “Glad to hear it, Curly. Well, here we are, your suite. C’mere, let me show you something.” The Viscount walked into the room to a panel on the wall with two delicate chains hanging down, each labeled with ornate letters.

“This is really cool, if I do say so myself, I designed it. Makes this place run much more efficiently. If you need anything like extra linens, or your armor cleaned, to send a message or need transportation arranged, pull this one.” He pointed to the chain marked HS. “It’ll ring the head servant’s quarters and they have a different little bell for each room in the keep, so they’ll send somebody. Now, if you’re hungry, or need water, a pint of ale, anything outside of meal time, pull this one,” he pointed to the chain labeled with a K, “and someone from the kitchen will help you out.”

Cullen’s stomach did a half turn at the mention of the kitchen. He truly hadn’t thought about his primary reason for being here since he’d arrived. “Impressive. This might be useful at the Grand Cathedral, actually.”

Varric moved toward the door. “Let’s talk about it over dinner? Oh, and by the way, are you ever gonna tell me why you are walking around with a hood and having me tell the staff that you are some random cleric instead of the Right Hand?”

Oh, right. That. “It’s, uh, a minor security precaution. I’ll explain later.”

Varric shook his head. “All right, but the minute someone sees the face that launched a thousand marriage proposals in Orlais word will spread like wildfire around here. You can’t very well wear a hood at dinner.”

“I expect the matter will be resolved by then.”

“Uh huh. See you later, Curly.” It was obvious Varric knew there was more to the story, but Cullen was grateful he didn’t press the issue.

The minute the door clicked shut, Cullen sat on the bed and checked his itinerary while he removed his traveling leathers and weapons. He was free for the next couple of hours until dinner was served, enough time for a quick nap and for a visit to the kitchen. No, that wouldn’t do, she’ll be too busy preparing the meal and he would hate to disturb her, but Varric was right. She would know he was here shortly after he arrived in the dining hall, surely the servants would gossip.

Shit. For all his skill with strategy he certainly didn’t think this one through very well. He would make a terrible spy, an observation Leliana had made to him on more than one occasion.

What was he thinking, coming here? Yes, he had work to do, but she had been the impetus for his visit. Now that the moment of seeing Sylvie was upon him, what exactly  _was_  his plan? To proclaim that he thinks he might have feelings for her in front of the entire kitchen staff? It occurred to him for the first time that maybe she had accepted this job not only to get away from her former employer, but to also put some distance between the two of them. It felt vain to even think such a thing, but the last time he saw her, the idea of spending more time with him seemed to be an upsetting one.

Cullen rubbed his eyes violently, he was thinking in circles again and overanalyzing. He would simply talk to her before dinner and let the pieces fall where they may.  Right now he needed to rest, and it didn’t take long after his head hit the pillow before he did just that.

He was startled awake at the sound of a knock at the door. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and while he reacquainted himself with his surroundings the knock came again, more insistent this time.

“One moment,” he called out, assessing his appearance. He had his undershirt on, although the neck was untied, and his leather breeches. His chest was a little exposed but he supposed that would have to do. It was probably an over eager servant coming to check on him, or maybe Varric was back to demand he tell him what the secrecy was all about.

He ran a hand through his hair and opened the door.

“Hello, Rutherford,” Sylvie said.

**Author's Note:**

> They are finally in the same room together again! Sorry for the cliffhanger but I'm trying to keep each part short and easy to digest. We'll find out what these crazy kids are gonna say to each other in Part 8.


End file.
